Falling Stars Don't Scream
by Zibia
Summary: This Age is falling apart before my eyes. Our tribal bonds are being tested and accusations are being thrown carelessly. It's true what they say, isn't it? All is fair in love and war. Rated for safety.
1. Exile

Hello, all! This is the first fanfic I've decided to post, though not the first I've written. This is perhaps a bit AU; if it's a little confusing, let me know and I'll try to make the idea clearer. Any terms/name meanings will be posted at the end of each chapter. I guess that's it.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize no matter how often I impersonate it.

* * *

There was a silence as the tribe's deputy paced back and forth over the broken pavement. A growl was in the queen's throat, her claws unsheathed, her green eyes narrowed. She paused, knowing that she would be unable to carry out any punishment until the leader decided the necessary action that would be made. There had been more tension in the tribe than ever, but even panic was not an acceptable excuse. The stupid black tom had gone and caused harm to one of the other tribes, not even giving his reason. Perhaps he was just a sadist.

Old Orrthannan emerged from his den, and every cat lowered themselves in submission, even though the tom had long since been blinded in battle. The traitor, Samhain, who had decided to jeopardize the peace they had with all the other tribes by attacking a dweller of the junkyard Jellicles, showed no remorse. He sat proudly, almost smug at his accomplishments, in front of the leader and his second in command. The deputy narrowed her eyes. An attack on one tribe meant you were the lowest of the low and no one would trust you.

"I would have expected better behavior from a senior warrior," Orrthannan rasped, unseeing eyes directed at the tom in front of him. "Why did you do such a thing? An attack on one of our allies is an attack on us all."

"Don't you realize, old man? This Age is ending. You're old, and whoever heard of a queen heading this tribe?" Samhain narrowed his eyes at Zibia, who sat stony still despite the anger blazing in her own.

"I find Zibia is more than capable of heading our tribe. She's proved that in my absence. Besides – why do you think she's my deputy?" Orrthannan rubbed his cheek against the queen's, who returned the gesture. They then sat incredibly still. "You shall walk the Path of Bone. I hereby announce this as your exile, Samhain." The tribal cats, who had lined the vacant lot in silence, filed out into two long lines. Zibia stood and took her place at the end of the lines.

"Walk," she snarled to the black tom, who dragged himself to his feet and stalked to the head of the lines. He bounded through as cats reached out and struck at him, biting and scratching anyway they could. He lept easily over the battle-scarred deputy, but, expecting such a move, she rose up on her hind legs and drug her claws through the soft fur of his underbelly. A growl came from his throat and he landed less than gracefully. He walked a few paces and threw a glance over his shoulder.

"This is the end of the Age," he hissed before slinking out beyond the fence.

-x-

"Momma? What's going to happen now?" Zibia glanced down at her apprentice, hiding the twitch caused by the young cat's habit of referring to her as her mother. "Samhain said the Age is going to end."

The brown tabby returned to licking the blood from her paws. "The Age isn't going to end. If something...unfortunate does happen to Orrthannan, I'm here. Power goes to the deputy."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you doubting me, Pyewackett?" the older queen teased, reaching out and ruffling her fur. "I totally one hundred percent promise nothing bad is going to happen to our tribe. Okay?" The kit nodded. "You look like you rolled in a dead thing. We have to apologize to the junkyard Jellicles." She rolled her eyes ever so slightly; more often than not, the deputy was annoyed by them. The young tortoiseshell smiled at her, noticing that the queen looked less than thrilled. Her eyes were narrowed and she was licking her chest fur slowly. She really was as lazy as her brothers said she was. "You've never met the junkyard cats, have you?"

"No. You say they sing and dance."

"They do. It's so flippin' annoying. Never sing or dance or do anything that a warrior wouldn't do. EVER."

"I thought we were all about peace."

"Yes. But we don't dance."

"You taught me to dance once. 'Cause you can't fight unless you know how to dance."

"Who told you that?"

"You did."

"Oh. Forget that."

Orrthannan, after being led by the healer, gently rubbed his cheek against the deputy's. "Are you all ready?"

"Of course, sir," the two queens answered.

* * *

-Orrthannan- Gaelic, enchantment

-Samhain- Another name for Halloween

-Zibia- Doe

-Pyewackett- traditional witch's familiar name, and also the name of the cat from John Wan Druten's _Bell, Book, and Candle_


	2. Duty

Okay, so this is the next chapter. I don't believe there is anything that needs explaining, so on with the story.

**Disclaimer:** Owning several CATS costumes does not classify as ownage.

* * *

The old black and white tom was led into the junkyard by his gently grip on Zibia's tail. The deputy's apprentice trailed a few feet behind him, ears pricked at the unusual surroundings. Pyewackett looked around at the few cats scattered among the rubble, who bowed in the mutual display of respect for the other tribes. A few were a little more reluctant to due so, since the attack had been so recent. Zibia led the old leader up the tire with a little help from a silver tom. Pyewackett settled herself a few paces off, senses alert for rogues.

"Samhain was sent into exile earlier this evening," Orrthannan informed, unseeing eyes turned in Deuteronomy's direction. He fell silent for a few moments. "I'm afraid something worse shall happen. There is rumor of rebellion among my tribe. Our bonds are being tested."

Pyewackett glanced up at the elder cats, frowned, and turned back to find a mostly white torbie kitten inches from her face. She scrambled up to her feet, forgetting all cross-tribe etiquette. "Hi!" the torbi greeted cheerily, bouncing as if she could barely contain her energy. "What's your name?"

The deputy apprentice blinked a few times. "My name is Pyewackett." She lowered herself to the ground with flattened ears. "Who are you?"

"Etcetera!" She bumped into Pyewackett's forehead as she attempted to rub her cheek.

"That's adorable!" she burst out, before realizing that more kits had come to investigate. "Hello!" Pyewackett smiled and bowed again. "Who are you all?" A chorus of names was shouted out and she couldn't help but smile at all the bundles of fluff. "It's nice to meet you all. I'm Pyewackett, Orrthannan's deputy's apprentice. That means I'm a warrior! ...In training." A look of wonderment filled the toms' faces.

Zibia reached down and swiped at the kit's ear, raising her brows. "If you keep that up, you'll have a fanclub," she warned before turning her attention to the elder cats.

Pyewackett glanced back down to the kittens, who were still staring at the newcomer. Although she liked to have someone look up to her, this was just unnerving. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"What's it like to be a warrior?"

Of course they'd ask that question. "It takes a lot of work and responsibility, but in the end, you're awesome." She leaped over the small group effortlessly. "You get to defend your tribe and have your name uttered by every cat and put in the books and-and...!" She trailed off, pressing a paw to her chest. "I live for this!" There was silence and she turned away. "So. Yeah. It's awesome."

There was silence for a few moments. "Do you wanna play with us?"

"Sure!" The young cats set off in a rowdy game of tag.

Zibia glanced over at the kits running about the junkyard. Pyewackett was unintentionally helping them with their mission: strengthening the bonds between tribes. War could break out at anytime. Bands of rogues were forming together, tribes were experiencing rebellion, and random attacks were breaking out. The tabby sighed rested her head on Orrthannan's shoulder as he fell silent. "I will station warriors here to help guard over your tribe," the blind leader concluded. "I do not doubt the abilities of your cats, but it is always helpful to have an extra set of claws. Pyewackett seems to have gained the trust of the kits, and she is nearing her warrior initiation." He flicked his ears in the direction of the excited shrieks. "Brandubh is one of our senior warriors, and his apprentice Alwin is more than capable. We will send other accomplished cats out in shifts. Is that alright?"

"I see no problem with it," Deuteronomy agreed with a small nod. Zibia lowered herself into a bow and allowed her leader to once again take her tail in his teeth. She carefully led them down the tire and motioned to Pyewackett to follow while she freed herself from the hyper kits.

"Tomorrow, you will be helping guard the junkyard," Zibia informed her apprentice. "We will return to our camp to inform the others and to collect Brandubh and Alwin. When you get back to your humans, I expect you to go right to sleep. I'll meet you at the camp entrance just after sunrise."

"Yes, Momma," Pyewackett purred, rubbing her cheek against her mentor's. The tabby's eyes rolled and Orrthannan chuckled. Zibia glanced back at him.

"Sir," she warned, wrinkling her nose.

He let go of her tail to speak. "I'm sorry, Zibia. But kits will be kits, you know."

* * *

**Names-**

-Alwin- defender

-Brandubh- black raven

**Terms-**

-rogue- a rival cat, regardless of status or whether or not they have humans

-kit- not quite a kitten, not quite a cat. When plural, can be used to describe a group of kits and kittens.


	3. Guard

Back again. I'm writting this a lot faster than I usually do stuff, but I blame it on the fact that I really don't want to refurbish the Victoria costume. It's our off year (we're not doing CATS) so we pick names out of a hat and we're each assigned a costume to touch up. We all work on the harder ones together. The thing's so goddamn _white_ and it's collected a lot of dirt.

**Insanemistosingsmore**- ...Is that how you spell it? ^^; I'm not sure if the whole kit/kitten thing is real, but that's what I think. Thanks!

**Evanne Taylor- **Thanks! I think those are some of the adjectives our theatre director uses when we screw up and fall on our face or something to make us work more.

**Disclaimer:** I don't think the Victoria costume hanging in my closet counts as me owning CATS.

* * *

"So, you really met the junkyard Jellicles?" one of the many apprentices asked the torti kit as she awaited to be led back.

"What were they like?"

"Do they really sing and dance?"

"Are there cute toms?"

Pyewackett lazily licked her chest fur. Escapades into other territories, even to ally turf, were rare for apprentices. "I can't tell you."

Yolanthe jumped at her, tackling her to the ground. "C'mon! I thought you were fun."

Itai pouted and stuck out his bottom lip. "Don't make us use the spot."

"Yeah, the spot!"

"Pyewackett." Zibia came up behind the group of young cats, and they each bowed automatically. "Time to go. Brandubh and Alwin are waiting ahead." The tortoiseshell threw them a smug look over her shoulder as she bounded a few feet ahead. "Don't worry. You guys will get your chance," the deputy whispered with a wink, turning to follow her apprentice. The apprentices exchanged glances with huge grins.

"Pye!"

"Win!"

The two kits leaped at each other and met in midair. They crashed to the ground and immediately began a wrestling match. Zibia grinned at her brother and helped him pull the apprentices apart. "I suppose you're not joining us at the junkyard?" Brandubh asked her, and the tabby queen gave a smug smile.

"Sorry. One of the perks of my position." She gave her chest fur a slow lick. "Oh, Everlasting Cat, don't give me a shift. Please no."

"What happened to peace among tribes?" the tom pointed out. "You're supposed to like them."

"So? I'm the flippin' deputy."

"But--"

"Deputy."

"You're really stubborn."

"So? I'm the deputy. You can't tell me what to do."

Alwin leaned close to Pyewackett. "Zibia sure has a swelled head, doesn't she?"

The torti queen nodded. "Yeah. Isn't that, like, sibling rivalry between those two?"

"I thought she was all serious!" Alwin persisted. "Like during the exile. I didn't know she could even try to be like Lufian."

Pyewackett scoffed. "You really think she's like Lufian?"

"He's her brother, so maybe it's in the blood?"

"Does Brandubh ever act that way?"

"...No." The two apprentices exchanged glances and dropped a few feet back, just to be safe. They reluctantly followed the higher ranking cats to the junkyard gate. "So, this is it?" Alwin whispered to the she-cat.

"Yep! The kits are so cute!" Pyewackett grinned and led him through.

"You think everything's cute."

Her face fell. "No, I don't. I don't think that pipe is cute. It looks nasty." Her nose wrinkled.

"So?"

"So?" she repeated, a little louder.

"Don't copy me!" Alwin snapped, glaring at her.

"Don't question my flippin' authority."

"I wasn't questioning your authority!"

"There you go again."

"I didn't do anything."

Pyewackett arched a brow. "Oh...really?" she asked slowly, and Alwin launched himself at her, successfully tackling her to the ground. They rolled around in a struggle for power. The queen bit his ear and pulled, and he batted at her cheek.

"Hello!"

Alwin looked over. "What's that?"

"It's a kitten! Hi, Etcetera!"

"Really? She looks like a large dustbunny." He paused and noticed the other kits behind her. "They all do."

"That's not cool," Pyewackett chastised, giving his ear one final tug before disentangling herself. "This is Alwin, another apprentice from my tribe. We'll be staying here awhile."

The kitten tilted her head to one side. "Why?"

Alwin rubbed his injured ear nervously. "Um. It's hard to explain."

"You know the rogues who attacked your tribe earlier? Well, we're here to make sure no more nasty kitties show up." Pyewackett gave a wide smile and patted her on the head.

"What about Macavity? Are you going to protect us against him, too?"

The two apprentices exchanged glances and looked helplessly at Brandubh, who had been surveying the junkyard behind them. "I'm afraid that he is none of our business. We are here to guard against rogues, and I don't believe that stupid tom can be considered one. Besides, Orrthannan did not give us instruction to do so."

"So we're going to leave them to him?" Alwin asked, wrinkling his brow.

"We will step in if it gets to be too much, I assure you," Brandubh replied patiently. "They are our allies. We must help our allies in their time of need."

"That's a maybe, then?" Alwin persisted, looking put off. "That's not very encouraging."

"We have certain duties, young kit. That is not one of them."

"But--"

"Don't press the matter. It dates back to an Age long before you."

Alwin bowed, noticing the tenseness in his mentor's voice. "Sorry, sir," he apologized, flattening his ears and bringing his tail close to his side. Pyewackett mirrored the gesture, even as the kitten climbed over her. They straightened and Etcetera slid down the queen's back. Brandubh gave a tiny grin and returned to his patrol.

Pyewackett twisted her head as far as she could to look at the torbie. "What do you want to do today?" she asked as Alwin glanced at the two with a bored expression.

"I dunno!" Etcetera chirped.

"Whatever." Alwin turned his nose up. "Playing is for kits."

Pyewackett glared and lowered the kitten to the ground. "You are a kit. We were born in the same winter."

"So? You're an immature flea-bitten lout."

"What?" she snarled as the tom turned away. She leaped and landed square on his shoulders, sending him crashing to the ground. "I'm a what?" she asked, silky-smooth, in his ear.

He twisted around onto his back and pushed her off with all four paws. "You heard me. Or did I stutter?" He leaned down and locked with her gaze. She knocked his front feet out from under him and he fell forward.

"This isn't over. In fact, it's just begun." They both steady themselves and tried to stare down the other. "I declare an official match. You and me, right here, right now."

* * *

**Names-**

-Yolanthe- strong

-Itai- friendly

-Lufian- love


	4. Skills

This one's kind of short, but, I really didn't know how to end it. I wrote myself into a corner. Sorry! By the way, my avatar will go in alphabetical order through all of Orrthannan's cats that have been mentioned. If theres one you really want to see, let me know.

Also, there were originally two versions of this story. One for Zibia, one for Pyewackett. I wanted to post Zibia's first, but it didn't work out. So when the time comes, do you think I should combine the two into one posting, or keep it as two seperate stories?

**IMSM-** Thank you! Someone saying they like Pye means a lot to me.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CATS, no matter how much I want to.

* * *

Alwin settled back on his haunches, tail tip thumping on the ground. "A match? Really?"

"Is it so hard to believe?" Pyewackett asked, her own tail lashing wildly behind her and her eyes narrowed to slits. "Enough talk. Or are you _afraid_?"

A scoff. "Afraid? _Me_? Never. I've been in more battles than you anyway."

"No, you haven't!"

"I have!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

Pyewackett turned away, annoyance flashing in her eyes. "Whatever. Are we going to fight or not?"

"You're on." Alwin crouched down and pounced just as the queen turned back to face him. Her reaction time was quicker than his landing; instead of landing square on her shoulders like he'd planned, his underbelly connected with her paws and he was tossed away. Pyewackett pushed herself off her back and leaped at the other apprentice, but he rolled away and her paws connected with the ground instead of his body. She stumbled to get her footing.

"Deputy's apprentice, my tail end," Alwin joked as she reoriented herself.

"There's a reason you're not," Pyewackett shot back, lowering into a crouch. She made a motion to jump, but instead quickly crawled to him and knocked his paws out from under him. He scowled at the fact that he'd fallen for the fake.

"A kitten's move," he snapped, getting to his feet while blushing under his fur.

"You fell for it," she teased, rising on her back legs to avoid a swipe to her front. Alwin took the opportunity and pounced, pinning her to the ground on her back. He gently closed her jaws over her throat.

"Dead," he growled, and she pushed him off roughly.

"Shut up." Pyewackett gave her chest fur a few angry licks.

"What? Are you sad you lost? Are going to _cry_?"

"Hell, no!" She glared at him, then rolled her eyes. "I died a warrior's death."

"You're still dead."

"Shut _up_." She stood and tried to stalk off, but was swarmed by two kits.

"That was amazing!" one tom kit spoke up.

"You guys are awesome!" the other joined in.

"Thanks!" Alwin leaned his head on Pyewackett's shoulder in a silent apology for the teasing. "Who are you guys?"

They both identified themselves at the same time (luckily the apprentices were able to decipher the jumble of syllables), changed to their two-legged forms, and did an elaborate series of flips.

"I can't do that," Alwin whispered to Pyewackett.

"Neither can I," she admitted as well.

"Actually, kind of," he modified.

"But not like that."

The kits slid back on their four paws. "You guys are pretty spectacular yourselves," Alwin admitted, watching the two kits glow with pride. "I'm pretty sure half us warriors couldn't even dream of doing something like that."

"And those of us who can land on our butts," Pyewackett put in. Alwin nudged her lightly with a dirty look. "Don't do that, you know it's true. We've both done it."

"I have not," he argued, not willing to admit such a thing.

"Have so!

"Have not!"

"Have so!"

Alwin launched himself at Pyewackett, pulling on her ear. "Fine, fine! You haven't! But you will!"

* * *

**Terms-**

-Dying a Warrior's Death- dying in battle

-Two legs/Four legs- In my little world, the cats have two forms. One on four legs (a regular cat), and one on two (a cat with human features or a furry human). There are many legends as to why this is, the most common of which will be reveiled in the story.


	5. Code

The next chapter. I was going to introduce a new cat here, but decided to save it for later. But she has to come in sometime, because she'd pretty important. I also decided that Etcetera is more of a torbie than a calico, so I went back and fixed that.... More randomness...some of the warrior code is mentioned in here; it is explained at the end of the chapter, but there is a portion of the code on my profile, along with the ranking of the warrior cats.

Anyone who can help me pick out names that go with Jonquil can have a freebie . It might help to know the parentage, so if you don't mind spoilers for another story, PM me.

**IMSM-** Yep! Whenever I start talking about acrobats, it's those two.

**Disclaimer:** My friend asked me what I wanted for my birthday last year. I said CATS. Obviously, he failed me.

* * *

Pyewackett lifted her head off her paws and glanced around the junkyard, eyes wandering over the cats. Nothing was going on that needed to be fixed, so why were her instincts kicking in? Flicking one ear in mild annoyance with herself, she opened her mouth to allow the air over her Jacobson's organ and closed her mouth with a sharp click of teeth. Something familiar...half wild, half tame. Something with a warrior's scent and with the scent of...something else. The apprentice laid a paw over her nose and glared at the space around her since she couldn't place it. Surely she smelt it before, nothing bad, something she'd known a short time ago but that had been masked. She felt bad for not knowing what it was.

The torti changed to her two legs and rolled onto her belly, an action that caused Alwin to glare at her from his spot beside her. "Why are you breaking the warrior code?" he asked in a firm voice, splaying his claws against the white surface of the oven.

She stretched herself lazily and folded her long legs under her before answering, "Our senses are the slightest bit duller in this form, aren't they? We sacrificed our warrior tools to possess the power to walk on two legs." Pyewackett paused and tangled a hand angrily in her headfur. "I...I thought I smelt something." _And now I don't want to,_ she added silently. Alwin lifted his head to taste the air.

"I don't smell anything. Was it a good thing?" he asked, laying his feline head on her thigh and using it as a pillow.

"Yes. A good thing. No rogues." She ruffled his fur affectionately, which caused him to adopt his two legs and lightly pat her on the cheek with his splayed hand before sitting up. Pyewackett gave him an exasperated look. "You're sure you didn't smell it?"

Alwin shook his head and gave her a sad look. "Sorry, Pye. I didn't. Maybe you should ask Brandubh."

"No," she replied shortly, absently running one finger over the white split in his seal point mask. "Maybe I'll find it again." He jabbed his finger at the gold splotch over her face.

"Stop thinking like that and stop touching me like that," he teased as she buried her head in her hands and watched him through her fingers. "It was a good thing, wasn't it? You know cats pick up rogue scent real fast, and if you think it's a good thing, I trust you." He turned away and stared off into the junkyard in mock jealousy. "You are the deputy's apprentice, after all." Pyewackett threw her arms around her fellow apprentice before dropping off the top of the oven.

"Thanks, Win!" she called with a wide smile.

"Where are going?" he asked, returning to his four paws, and she paused in the middle of the junkyard, half smiling.

"I dunno!" she replied cheerily with a small shrug and then, to Alwin's amusement, did a particularly high kick and pranced off.

-x-

"That's really pretty," Pyewackett commented, watching as Victoria pirouetted after coming out of a plie. She then jabbed her finger at Jemima. "And you sing awesomely." She pointed at Etcetera and Electra. "And you guys are just cool." She shifted her position on the ground and sat up. "Yeah. The junkyard folk are a real change from us." She stretched her arms above her head. "You're pretty and graceful and, chances are, you've never walked into someone's front claw." She grinned a tiny bit and then jumped as the kits gathered around her, clutching at her arms and swooning.

"It's him!" Victoria gasped. Etcetera let out an excited squeal and pointed, and the other two gave a stereotypical swooner's sigh.

Pyewackett tilted her head to one side. "Who...?"

"The Rum Tum Tugger!" Electra informed, and then the apprentice noticed just who Etcetera had been pointing at. A house cat – a Maine Coon – with a strut that reminded her of a chicken. Pyewackett giggled into her paw at the absurdity of it. "Isn't he dreamy?"

"Yeah, sure," Pyewackett giggled, causing the other young queens to look at her.

"You don't think so?" Jemima asked sadly.

"He's kind of nice-looking," Pyewackett admitted after a moment. "But he looks like he'd do anything for a date. Walk into my left claw, for example. Listen, girls, you don't want to get involved with someone like that."

"Why not?" Etcetera asked – and the apprentice knew she'd be the one to. The torti rolled her eyes skyward and tried to figure out an appropriate way to answer the question.

"You'll understand when you're older," she decided just as the tom sauntered up.

"Hello, ladies," he purred, hooking his thumbs in his belt and pushing her hips forward ever so slightly. "And who do we have here?" he asked, giving a rather pointed look at Pyewackett, which caused the apprentice to narrow her eyes.

"My name is Pyewackett. I am the deputy's apprentice from Orrthannan's tribe," she answered stiffly before bowing the best she could in her kneeling position. "It is pleasant to meet your acquaintance."

"You're a warrior, huh?" he continued despite her icy tone. "Nice. I love a girl who can handle herself."

"Yes...but I'm not in favor of abusing my position and I advise that you don't either or you'll be walking into my left claw."

He chuckled mildly. "Not very nice. But, that's okay, I like my queens feisty."

Pyewackett sat up a little straighter. "Sorry, hon, you're not my type."

"I think I could change your mind, my little minx," he replied, cupping her chin before walking away.

_I got hit on by a pampered housecat,_ Pyewackett thought angrily, rubbing at the area of flesh that had been touched. _One that probably shags anything with a pulse!_

"You are so lucky," Electra commented, clutching at the apprentice's arm.

"Yeah, I mean, none of us have a nickname," Etectera pouted. "Oh Heaviside, do you think you could talk to him for us?"

"Hell no," Pyewackett answered angrily, still attempting to get the feeling of the tom's fingers off her chin. "I'm a fighter, not a lover." She changed into her four legs and rolled on the ground. "No-no-no-no-no!" She stopped on her back, shifted toward to her previous form, and extended one arm for the sky, making motions as if to grab the sun. "I've...been...molested."

* * *

**Terms-**

-Good thing/Bad thing- used by young apprentices early in training. Ex- Rogues are bad things, littermates are good things.

-housecat- exactly as it sounds, a cat that lives with humans. Usually looked down upon by warriors/wildcats.

**Warrior Code-**

-Two legs/Four paws- "A cat must respect his ancestors and fight only on four paws". Dancing Jellicles (the junkyard folk) were once warriors, but were gifted two legs so that they may dance. As a result their senses were dulled, leaving them with less ability in battle. Warrior cats are true to their bloodlines and while they possess their two legs, do not like to use them.


End file.
